


voices in my head

by Arieava



Category: Be More Chill, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Basically, Blood and Injury, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Murder, Self-Sacrifice, So much angst, Suicide, Violence, light fluff in the middle of heavy angst, no happy ending, sorry if they're OOC, wow these tags are making it sound terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arieava/pseuds/Arieava
Summary: He was standing in the doorway of the dressing room, his expression unreadable. That alone was enough to set Jeremy on edge—there had never been a time when he wasn’t able to tell what Michael was thinking. He was still wearing that red hoodie that Jeremy had given him for his 14th birthday. It was disconcerting, seeing the hoodie, after everything that had happened. It almost made it seem like nothing had changed.They both knew that wasn’t true.





	voices in my head

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this instead of my essay so enjoy

“Jeremy.”

The sound of his name made him freeze, halfway through zipping up his backpack. His name, spoken by the voice he knew better than anyone’s. The voice that, a few weeks ago, would’ve brought a grin to his face, no matter how shitty his day had been. The last time he had heard that voice was in the bathroom at a Halloween party, and although his memory of that night was blurred by alcohol, he knew from the tone of the voice that something had shifted then. A sharp stab of...something (regret? anger? unease?) tore through him, and he took a deep breath before turning around and saying, “Michael.”

He was standing in the doorway of the dressing room, his expression unreadable. That alone was enough to set Jeremy on edge—there had never been a time when he wasn’t able to tell what Michael was thinking. He was still wearing that red hoodie that Jeremy had given him for his 14th birthday. The one that he wore for a month straight after getting it, and only took off because a girl sitting next to him caught a whiff of it and almost passed out. It was disconcerting, seeing the hoodie, after everything that had happened. It almost made it seem like nothing had changed. They both knew that wasn’t true.

They stared at each other for what felt like forever before Jeremy finally broke the silence. “How did you know where I was?”

Michael shrugged. “I asked Christine.”

“Oh.” More silence.

_“You shouldn’t be talking to him.”_ The Squip had suddenly appeared and was now casually leaning against the wall as if he’d been there all along. _“He’s holding you back, remember? If you really want to have Christine…”_

_“It's just a short conversation, jeez, calm down. It'll be fine,”_ Jeremy said to him mentally. Out loud, he asked Michael, “So, did you have something you wanted to say to me, or…?”

Michael exhaled, looking up at the ceiling. “Believe me, there are…” He let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Several things I would very much like to say to you right now. But I’m not going to say them, because that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here,” Michael looked him in the eye, “because I’m going to ask you, one last time, for the sake of our friendship, to get your head out of your ass and actually _listen_ to me.” His voice was tinged with anger.

Jeremy was taken aback; Michael hardly ever got angry. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” he stepped forward, letting the door close behind him, “that I’ve researched that little machine in your head, and it’s bad news. _Really_ bad news.”

“Oh god, this again?” Jeremy rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Look, the Squip isn’t dangerous! He’s been helping me! I mean, I’m popular now, I’ve got friends-”

“What, so I wasn’t good enough for you?” There was hurt mixed in with the anger on his face now.

“I- that’s not what I meant-”

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Michael said, cutting him off. “So it hasn’t made you do anything...morally questionable?”

Jeremy had a vivid recollection of the look on Brooke’s face when she saw him with Chloe, and swallowed. “...No…”

“Really? Because Jenna Rolan has been telling everyone she knows that you got caught shirtless in Jake’s parents’ bedroom. With _Chloe_.”

“I- That wasn’t-”

“Wasn't okay? Yeah, I’d say so. In fact, I’d say it was a pretty dick move.”

Jeremy narrowed his eyes at him. “Why do you even care if I cheated on Brooke?”

“ _Because you’re my best friend!_ ” Michael was shouting now. “Because _I know you_ , and you would _never_ have voluntarily done something like that! _Especially_ not to someone who trusted you! Even if you didn’t actually love her, it wouldn't have mattered, because you still wouldn’t have fucking _cheated on her with her best friend!_ ”

Hot, bubbling shame rose up in Jeremy’s chest, and he looked down at the floor. “...I didn’t want to.”

Michael sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I know. That’s my _point_. Is popularity really worth all of...this?” He gestured vaguely.

Jeremy bit his lip. “I’m...not doing it for the popularity. Not really.”

Michael looked at him for a minute, then sighed. “Christine.”

Still staring at the floor, Jeremy gave a small, miserable nod.

“Figures,” Michael muttered. Then he said, “Okay. Jer. Look at me.”

Jeremy slowly raised his head, his eyes meeting Michael’s.

“You _know_ what kind of person Christine is. You know, I know, practically the whole _school_ knows. You’re always gushing about how sweet she is, how nice she is to everyone, what a good friend she is, how she always smiles at people in the hallway, blah blah blah. Right?” Jeremy nodded.

Looking at him hard, Michael asked, “So do you honestly think that doing all of this is going to make her like you more?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, his eyes widening slightly.

He hadn’t thought about that. _Why hadn’t he thought about that?_ It should’ve been _obvious_ that Christine wouldn’t approve of all the shit he was pulling. Why the hell would she date a guy who’d cheated on his girlfriend with her _best friend_? “I-”

_“Alright, enough.”_ Jeremy flinched; he’d forgotten that the Squip was even there. _“I thought there wasn’t much harm in allowing this, but obviously I was wrong, and we’re gonna have to do this the hard way.”_ The Squip rolled his eyes, muttering, _“Teenagers, always messing up my operation. I just have to do everything myself, don’t I?”_

_“What do you-”_ Jeremy started to ask him, but suddenly he couldn’t move. His body stiffened up, and Michael looked at him worriedly.

“Jer? You okay?”

_“Initiating combat mode.”_

_“What?”_

Jeremy suddenly lunged at Michael. Caught completely off guard, Michael got knocked to the ground, and before he could do anything more than gasp for breath, Jeremy had him pinned down.

“ _Jeremy_!” Michael yelled, shocked. “What are you _doing_?”

Jeremy tried to tell him that it _wasn’t him, it was the Squip_ —but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as his fist crashed into his friend’s face.

Michael's head snapped to the side, and he hissed in pain. Wincing, he twisted around, trying to get out from under Jeremy. But the Squip was accessing sources of strength that Jeremy never knew he had, and only tightened his grip on Michael, causing him to cry out.

Gritting his teeth, Michael stared up into Jeremy’s eyes. “Jeremy, I know you’re in there, _you can fight it_ -” The Squip kneed him in the stomach, hard, and he choked.

_“Stop it!”_ Jeremy shouted at the Squip, but he ignored him.

“Jeremy, you can do it-” The Squip punched him again. “Just f-focus, I know-” Another punch. “-you-” He elbowed Michael in the side, and he let out a choked-off whimper. It was one of the worst sounds Jeremy had ever heard in his life.

Jeremy focused as hard as he could, desperately trying to take back control, but despite everything he tried, he could only watch helplessly as his best friend was battered into the ground.

And the worst part of it all was that Michael never fought back.

Despite his face being bloody and bruised, with one eye already starting to swell shut, Michael was still looking up at Jeremy, trying to smile. “Jeremy, c'mon, f-fight it, you’re s-stronger than-” The Squip kicked him in the side, and he screamed in agony as two of his ribs cracked.

_“Please stop!”_ Jeremy begged the Squip. _“Please, I’ll do anything, just stop hurting him!”_

_“Sorry, Jeremy,”_ the Squip said, completely remorseless, as he kicked Michael in the ribs again. _“I did say that you’d have to make sacrifices, didn’t I?”_

He grabbed Michael, who was barely conscious now, by the arm, and hurled him across the room as if he weighed nothing. He slammed into the mirror, shattering it, then crumpled to the floor in a heap, shards of glass raining down on top of him.

The Squip walked over to Michael, grabbed his shoulder, and flipped him over, ignoring the choked sob he let out involuntarily as the remains of the mirror cut into him.

Jeremy, horrified by the damage that had been done, didn’t even notice his hand picking up a large shard of glass.

_“Initiating termination mode.”_

Jeremy, realizing what was about to happen a split second before it did, screamed, _“NO!”_

He could do nothing to stop his own hand from plunging the shard of glass into his best friend’s chest.

Michael choked, recoiling, as blood dribbled from his mouth. The fabric around the wound quickly began to grow darker.

_“No no no no shit no shit shit Michael shit no no no fuck Michael no,”_ Jeremy stammered, terrified. _“Oh my god oh my god this isn’t happening holy shit Michael-”_

The Squip, disinterestedly, said, _“If it’s any comfort to you, he’ll die fairly quickly.”_

_“LET ME GO, YOU BASTARD!”_

He shrugged. _“Fine, but don’t do anything stupid.”_ He snapped his fingers, and Jeremy had control of his body again.

He dropped to his knees next to his best friend, who was spasming on the floor as he coughed up blood. “Shit, oh my god, Michael- what do I do, what do I do- right, call 911, where the _fuck_ is my phone-” Panicking, he jumped up and raced over to his backpack. He rifled through the pockets desperately, searching. Finally spotting it, he grabbed it and sprinted back over to Michael, kneeling next to him again. He tried to type in the number, but his fingers were shaking so much that he couldn’t manage it. “Fuck fuck _fuck_ -”

“J-Jeremy-” Michael said weakly, reaching up and putting his hand over the phone, “-i-it’s fine, calm down-” He broke off, coughing up more blood.

“No, it’s not fine, y-you’re _dying_ , for fuck’s sake!” Jeremy tried to wipe away the tears that were sliding down his face and ended up smearing blood on his cheek. _Michael’s_ blood. Michael, who was currently bleeding out on the floor in front of him-

He let out a choked sob, hunching over and letting the phone slip from his trembling hands to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Michael, I’m so, so sorry, I fucked everything up, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

Michael, who was getting weaker by the second, reached up and cupped Jeremy’s cheek with his hand, wiping away his tears. “Jer, it’s...it’s okay, I know it w-wasn’t you,” he said, smiling sadly. “...I guess I’m n-not gonna get a better chance to...tell y-you, so, um-” He coughed again, violently, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

Jeremy, his breathing erratic and terrified, started shaking his head, over and over. “No no no no no, Michael, you’re gonna make it, y-you’re gonna survive, you’re _n-not dying_ , you _can’t_ -” He was crying harder now, his words barely understandable. “-I _c-can’t lose y-you, p-please, it’s all m-my fault_ -”

Michael was crying, too; he took Jeremy’s hand and squeezed it. “Jeremy...listen...listen to me, o-okay?”

Jeremy nodded, tears running down his cheeks, pressing his lips together tightly in an effort to keep himself from vomiting. He squeezed Michael’s hand back, desperately willing him to stay alive.

Michael took a deep breath, then said, his voice unsteady, “J-Jeremy Heere, I am...c-completely and utterly in love with you, and I...have been s-since we were twelve years old, a-and...if I’m going to die today, there’s no place I’d rather be than...right here n-next to you.” He smiled shakily, tears running down his face.

Time slowed to a stop. Jeremy stared at Michael, his breath caught in his throat, processing what he had just said. The universe seemed to hold its breath.

Then Jeremy launched himself forward and kissed him like his world was ending.

Which it was.

The kiss wasn’t perfect—it was messy and desperate and they could taste blood and tears on each other’s lips—but it told a story. _Their_ story. The story of two boys who fell in love without ever knowing that they had fallen; who shared scraped knees and bug bites and comic books and secrets and, somewhere along the way, shared their hearts as well. Two boys who never knew that what they had was something different, something special and wonderful and _extraordinary_ , because wasn’t this how all friendships were supposed to feel? Didn’t _all_ friends feel as though they were one soul in two separate bodies? Didn’t everyone feel incomplete without their other half by their side? They were too young to understand what it was that they had; that the connection they had made when they met on the playground in kindergarten (Jeremy, scared to go down the slide, was trying not to cry, and Michael, watching from the swingset, walked over and promised that he would catch him, and he did—he caught him and told him he would never let him fall again, and he never did) was the kind of connection that some people seek their entire lives and never find. They were too young, and the world didn’t understand what they shared, so it mocked them, and the two boys became afraid to love. They were afraid when they finally realized what it was that they shared, and buried it so that no one would ever know, so that no one could ever take it away from them; they were afraid then, and they were afraid now. The kiss expressed the emotions they could never put into words, and the ones that they didn’t _want_ to put into words—joy, heartbreak, trust, betrayal, grief, fear, jealousy, peace, anger, love, love, _love_ —and no, it wasn’t perfect, but neither were they. They kissed, and they were so, so afraid, and they clung to each other like they were never letting go.

When they finally ran out of breath and had to come up for air, they leaned their foreheads against each other and just sat there, stunned; both painfully aware of the precious seconds ticking away, but neither one really sure what to do.

Then Michael broke the silence, in typical Michael fashion. “...That was...p-pretty gay.”

They looked at each other, and then Jeremy’s mouth twitched, as if trying not to smile. “No shit, Sherlock.”

And then they were laughing, laughing through the tears, and as Michael’s heartbeat grew slower and slower, they _laughed_ , because wasn’t it just so painfully fitting that they only learned not to fear love when it was too late?

And then Jeremy squeezed his hand, squeezed it as hard as he could, and whispered, “Michael Mell, I am completely and utterly in love with you, and I have been since we were twelve years old, and if you’re going to die today, there’s no place I’d rather be than right here next to you.”

And Michael smiled, and squeezed his hand back, squeezed it as hard as he could.

And then his hand went limp, and he was gone.

And Jeremy fell apart.

Eventually, the tears ran out, and Jeremy was left sitting in the dressing room, numb and empty, his veins filled with ice. Still holding Michael’s hand.

_“Well, that was dramatic.”_

Jeremy barely reacted. He just stared straight ahead, unseeing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Squip wander over and crouch next to him. _“Okay, Romeo, you’ve had your cry time, now we need to go. We don’t want anyone seeing you here.”_

In a calm, quiet voice, Jeremy said, “You knew, didn’t you?”

He could almost feel the Squip roll his eyes. _“Obviously I knew, I’m inside your brain, Jeremy. It was so obvious that I would be shocked that you didn’t know, except I know that you’re astonishingly oblivious.”_

Jeremy nodded, then stood up and walked over to his backpack, getting out a piece of paper. He took a few minutes to write something on it, then folded it up and put it in his pocket.

The Squip, watching him in mild confusion, asked, _“What are you doing?”_ Jeremy ignored him, walking back over to Michael.

He knelt next to him, taking his hand, then picked something up from next to Michael’s body. He took a deep, deep breath.

The Squip suddenly caught sight of what he was holding in his hand.

It was a bloodstained piece of glass.

_“Wait, no-”_

Too late.

As Jeremy crumpled to the floor, vision already going dark, the shard of glass that had killed Michael buried in his heart, he felt a pang of regret over leaving his dad. But if the Squip could make him kill Michael, it could make him do anything. He was a walking weapon.

He thought of the suicide note in his pocket.

> _Dear Dad,_
> 
> __
> 
> __
> 
> _I’m sorry. This isn’t about anything you’ve done. I made a terrible mistake, and I needed to pay the price before someone else did. I love you._
> 
> _-J_

He wondered who would find them.

As the world faded away, the last thing Jeremy saw was Michael. He smiled.

And then he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr (@arieava)
> 
> also! i didn't come up with this idea! i saw a post by @frickmyrick on tumblr and decided to write it, so ~~go scream at them too~~ (update: it actually looks like they've deactivated since i saw that post,,,,,rip dude)


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